


Replay

by misscam



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-25
Updated: 2009-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscam/pseuds/misscam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning, humanity wakes to its near-extinction. It won't be the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Replay

**Author's Note:**

> Vague implied spoilers for beyond the mini-series. Nothing explicit. Thanks to **lotus79** for accidental beta work on this when I was just trying to test the premise on her, and for holding my cyber-hand when I was feeling a bit down. Love ya, babe.

Replay  
by **misscam**

Disclaimer: Not my universe, just my words as I play in it.

II

One morning, humanity wakes to its near-extinction. It won't be the first time.

II

The president (by virtue of those before her in line being dead) is going to see the military leader of what remains, highest ranking officer left for the same reason as her promotion.

There is something painfully ironic in that, she thinks, and even more in that they've already met before the apocalypse.

She didn't like him then. She's pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

When she walks in she feels dismissed already; he won't meet her gaze and his whole attitude screams of disrespect as he simply sits down.

So be it. He's not the first obstacle she has had to overcome today and he will not be the last.

"Do you intend to acknowledge me as president?" she asks bluntly, and he looks up briefly in surprise.

Blood still clings to his temple, she notes. Blood still clings to them all, even washed off. The loss of so many lives will do that.

"You weren't president yesterday," he says.

"A lot of things were different yesterday," she says and the thought is so sharp with sorrow she has to swallow. "36 people in line in front of me weren't dead."

Our race was not at the brink of extinction, she doesn't say. She doesn't have to. They both know it all the way to their bones.

"Be that as it may," she goes on, trying to put aside the grief. She must. There is still the possibility of survival and it must be her primary concern. "Everyone else is dead. If you do not accept my authority, you accept none."

He breathes; she watches the lines on his face. She finds herself briefly wondering what they would look mellowed into a smile; she thinks it might be lovely.

"Madam President," he finally acknowledges. There is enough hint of respect in his voice that she thinks it might be sincere. The rest she'll just have to gain.

"We must leave," she says. "We must leave this world and never come back. Find a new home. Repopulate."

"Start having babies?" he says, almost like sarcasm.

" _Yes_ ," she insists and for a moment, for all formality, hostility and tugging match, she knows they're thinking the same thing.

She keeps her composure cool but her cheeks are warm, and so is the heat in his gaze.

"We have twelve ships," he says. "You think we can make a new colony from that?"

"I think we can make twelve," she says. "The Cylons only took one, leaving our world and finding their own."

"Earth," he says, a touch dismissively. "We haven't heard from Earth for a long time. Some think it might be just a legend."

"They sent word back," she says firmly. "Earth is real. Our sacred scrolls record it."

"Sacred scrolls got us into this mess," he points out. He is not a believer, she realises. At least not in their Gods. She wonders what he believes instead.

"A lot of things got us into this mess," she corrects. The changes in climate, the disruption in food supplies, the growing anger, the lingering hostility after the Cylons left, the war, the nukes; a flood of catastrophes (natural and created both) all at once. All of them created this mess, and none of them alone. "But we must look to the future. We must look to the stars. Our fleet of survivors."

A beat; then he stands up and she mirrors his action.

"So be it," he agrees, offering her a hand. "We lead it together. You're a priestess, unfamiliar with the military."

"You're a commander," she counters, taking his hand and holding it as he shakes it very briefly. "Unfamiliar with civilian matters."

His smile is indeed lovely, if brief, and she wonders if it might be even be possible to love this man.

Maybe one day. In a very distant future.

"Agreed," he says formally, even if his eyes are softer. "We will leave Kobol. Go to the stars."

"Yes. And hope this never happens again."

"So say we all," he says, his voice raspy, and she nods to it. It's their first joint decision, she thinks. She hopes it won't be the last.

"So say we all."

II

It will happen again, she can't know. Won't know, even when she is Laura Roslin and he is William Adama and they once again lead together. Survive together. Fight together and apart. Look for a new home together. Live together. Love together.

All this will happen again.

History repeats itself, it's well known.

So do people.

FIN


End file.
